Riding with Pablo

Cruising through Long Beach

Listening to the news

The horrible awful news of the wars

The Bloody Tyrants

Who revel in their evil practices

All in the name of some version of god or

Some biased practice or “honor”

(never stated is the ideal of killing for the sake of KILLING)

And I’m almost ready to drive into a pole

I’m so done with this fascination with evil

So I switch to my auxiliary channel and up pops

Pablo Casals with his soulful cello trading licks

With the piano

It's soothing yet so deeply melancholy

A perfect juxtaposition

Though not everyone’s cup of tea

for just a moment

the ugliness relents and

I imagine the notes washing over me

pulsing rhythmically

it feels so good

ah

The end of the line.

The circle comes full.

We go out as we came in at the end, as always, the staff and Silvia, now also Georgia,

and my kids, in the afternoon, the final hours, just hanging out. So easy and natural,

ALIVE.

The last day, bright and full of spring. We were in the sun, sitting on chairs to be sold,

surrounded by junk to be sold, and no one to buy on this afternoon. It always was slow

in the afternoons.

Steve was reading a book of poems from the boxes of books, 15 cents each, trying to

find a poem Silvia did not know. I bet him a quarter on one, but she knew it and Steve

owes me a quarter. Laughter, jokes, insults, and insights. Silvia started a story about

why she knew poems and about Colorado and poets who died.

Poets who died. This is a good day to die. Stories and jokes, talk and laughter,

aliveness. Essence of Free School. This is a good day to be alive and hanging out. I

was glad the kids were there that afternoon to experience all that. THAT is the all and

everything, we did those 12 years, what the Full Circle encapsulates: Alive and just

hanging out, being there, being ourselves, with no need for anymore.

Some people, a nice family, actual customers, bought the low red bookcase with the

pencil sharpener attached, and Steve felt THAT loss, having watched years of kids

knocking the sharpener apart and struggling with it and finally learning how to use it.

Just watching, being there, hanging out with the struggle and learning. Encircled. Full of

beginnings and ends. It was a good day to learn to sharpen a pencil.

One last meeting about the Round Table, before questing, each of us, for our own

personal grail. As usual, no agenda, Jan’s laughing talk with Silvia, Georgia and the kids

comparing shoes and clothes. One last bright and shining moment – everything must

go, nothing can remain. A good day to change.

Then the end of the line.

Then the circle comes full. And fades…

Written by John Nomura on March 27, 1983, as he closed the school that he had

directed for 12 years, fondly called the Free School. I worked there under the name

“Steve” for 9 years. He went on to do good works for the rest of his days.

R.I.P. John Nomura 1942 - 2023

Tony Moffeit performs Stones in My Pocket

Ten years ago, I took a trip with my friend, Murray Thomas, around

Colorado, New Mexico and Arizona. It was a poetry reading series with a

number of stops along the way: Flagstaff, Norwood, Teluride, Boulder,

Lafayette, Denver, Pueblo, Las Vegas and Albuquerque (with numerous

house readings as well). It was quite an adventure!

As to the video, this was our reading with Tony Moffeit at a coffeehouse in

Pueblo, Colorado. Tony was the feature and Murray and I were the opening

acts. Tony performed much of his poetry as a poetry shouter, much like Big

Joe Turner was a blues shouter. As I recall, it was on Halloween and some of

the patrons were dressed up in full regalia. I was doing my best imitation of a

Beatnik while Murray was dressed as a Hawaiian tourist complete with

Hawaiian shirt, shorts and flip flops (even though it had been snowing and

was very cold).

I had asked Tony if I could sit in with the guitar player (Rick – I don't

remember his name) and Tony was delighted. So this is the setup. I hope you

enjoy it.

RD. Armstrong